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Night of the Living Suits
The exclusive calm of Forest Lawn cemetery is
shattered when there is no more room in hell for all the bloated
CEOs who have died from terminal greed and too much
pate foie gras. Mumbling incoherently about globalization, the
pin-striped zombies ravenously search for human misery to capitalize on.
Squalid poverty, gutted social programs, slag
heaps of unemployed, third-world child labour, fetid
toxic waste dumps, and the yawning chasm between
rich and poor-- all feed their insatiable bloodlust
for higher quarterly dividends and mega-stock-options.
The only defence against the demonic downsizers
is to smash their hideously hierarchical,
top-heavy heads with sharp collective tools. But have
we neglected our powerful democratic instruments
for too long to stop this undead CEO onslaught?
Night of the Living Suits and many
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